Around the World in Eighteen Days
by Haraya
Summary: or "How to Throw the Rest of the World that Isn't 'Retired But Not Dead' into Irrevocable Chaos in the Span of Two Weeks and Four Days (travel time not included), Romano and Prussia Style." Multi-Chap. Rating for language.
1. Day 1 - Iceland

**Author's Note** : NONE OF THE INNUENDOS ARE INTENTIONAL OKAY OKAY BYE.

All locations in this story are semi-fictional. They are based on real places but I took a few liberties and added some features.

And yes, I am attempting to be funny here, so if you find something that feels out of place somehow, laugh.

* * *

 **day 1, 17:24 – in the one tavern of a near-deserted islet, Iceland**

It was no secret that Iceland liked isolation but to his family, neither was his favorite place to be isolated in. He showed the exact spot to Norway first when they were both at an age when they believed there was and never will be an occasional need to hide from one another and the rest of the world somewhere, and, one night when he was older and very drunk, he told Denmark about more or less which island it was in, who in turn, years later on a night when he was older and very drunk himself, sent the information to Finland and would have had to every contact name in his beeper had not Sweden chosen the precise moment to look over his shoulder, read what he had written and stop him. On the day Iceland learned they knew, when they surprised him in that place with steaming dinner and the pastries he'd loved as a kid but said nothing the whole evening about him coming around from his then months-long depression, he did nothing to change it.

When Iceland sulks, his volcanoes simmer and smoke for days and his hot springs get hot enough to bubble like soup over a consistent heat. The stations leading to his messier, noisier, more dangerous tantrums are few though far apart, but all the ways in between are dotted with preemptive visits to his island for various numbers of days. It was less than a hundred people strong and small, with a handful of tourists in the summer when the cold lessened enough to be bearable in Arctic terms. His average time-outs were done in the island's town for a weekend or a little more than that, when he would assist the fishermen every time they'd sail for a catch. For more severe periods of gloom, he had an old shack overlooking the crashing ocean placed as far as it could possibly get from the town, where he would brood away the hours that weren't spent stomping back and forth the countryside with the wind in his face. It was this cottage from which a disgruntled, hungry Mr. Puffin would emerge after a few weeks of being ignored by his master to whine about it to his friends – the cue of the three to look to Norway on when to move and the cue for Norway to test the waters and the scent of the wind. The middle Nordic only ever had to play moderator twice before but he was very good at his job.

But even on their own, Denmark, Finland and Sweden had a good sense of when it was alright to pick Iceland up from his island-town-level me times. No other country was supposed to know about the island in general – it was not popular, it was frigid at the best times, it was unimportant to the rest of the world – so the three were a bit surprised to hear semi-familiar voices ringing from near the door of the building they knew they'd find their two other friends in.

"-a chick or a bird, well, I've had him for centuries now and I still don't know what he is exactly-"

"-anywhere near Snarky McFeathers here though, and don't give me that look, pass me the sauce-"

"I'll be… aren't those the two non-crew blokes who hang around during our world meetings but don't have a seat at the table?" Denmark pondered. Sweden grunted. Finland wondered aloud what they might be doing here and did not speak about whether they had anything to do with what the three of them had just seen. Sweden grunted.

He opened the door. The dining hall before them was a several hundred years old and still looked the way it did on its first day, although the relieving presence of several very modern and very hidden heaters could be felt at once. As everybody preferred the two modern restobars that served things like French fries and soda that flanked the wooden structure, it opened only during tourist season, when it would outshine all other establishments, and when Iceland was around, when it would feed the whole town for free until he left the rotating volunteer staff with just enough to retain its good condition for another year. Tonight it was packed – hardly a vacant seat in sight among the tables nearest them, but above the murmuring din of families enjoying dinner, two voices to the right dominated the susurrus:

"-so we just wanted to know-"

"-if you've seen anything like what we've been saying-"

"-around both your places if you've actually been listening this whole time-"

"-and if you could give it to me-"

"-to me-"

"-because it's my lifelong pet-"

"-because I need to drink its blood while it still runs in its veins and swallow its flesh while it's still warm-"

"-because Gilbird is my _pet_."

Around the table on the corner by the window, there was silence. Even with their backs to them, those at the door could envision the youngest Nordic looking equal parts puzzled and annoyed and the rare crease sure to rest on his brother's brow. Countries have the ability to single out their kind among throngs of people and the three heard what was said next as they took off their coats to hang:

"'Drink,'" Iceland said, shoulders still stiff, arms still crossed, "'its blood while it still runs in its veins and swallow its flesh while it's still warm? '"

"That means still alive," quipped the man facing him.

Norway was a man of few words no matter what, most especially so with strangers: "Why?"

"Long story," shrugged the previous speaker, "but let's just say he's a bastard's why."

"Roma-chen!" the spikier of the two silver heads on the table gasped, "Roma-chen, how _could_ you?"

"You three joining in on the great debate or what?"

Three perplexed faces looked down. A puffin-like bird looked back at them. "Boss won't let me up on the table," he conversed. "or tell me what's on the menu. I don't eat meat, but I bet it smells like heaven in here for you people."

Three stomachs grumbled on noticing this fact. They looked back to the table where no one's noticed them yet.

"I guess we should go and grab a bite…"

"That's the original plan; have you forgotten, Finny?"

"…with them?"

They all exchanged looks. Sweden shrugged. He liked debates but not taking part in them. "Doesn't look like we can make things worse."

They took their time in edging forward, Mr. Puffin a few paces ahead. The two outsiders had begun talking together again:

"-not going so far as asking you to help us beyond your lands-"

"-though we'd be grateful – but not _too_ grateful, you chigis-"

"-nything, the Ore-sama and Roma-chen'd be really indebted to you."

"-chigis," the other guy finished. Denmark had a faint idea what that undoubtedly foreign word meant but he didn't think now was a nice time to discuss his theory. "Yo Norgie, Ice! Mind introducing us to your new friends?"

He received two bordering on crazed looks – purple eyes shrieked, _They're_ not _our friends!_ ; indigo begged, _Save us, Anko._

"Hello," Finland began politely, slipping into an easy smile. "You're Italy-san and Germany-san's brothers right? Romano-kun and Prussia-kun if I remember correctly? We've met before in some world meetings."

"Oh yeah!" The taller of the two strangers grinned and stretched an arm to shake hands. "Yer Estonia's friend, Finland – he's told me lots about you when we lived in the same house – yar Denmark – I've seen some o' your YouTube vids and I must say I'm a fan; we should totally get together and jam sometime! – and you're-" Recognition flashed in red circles that turned to fear and mortification; the speaker took a long swig of his beer to look away and showed no signs of stopping. Four pairs of eyes snuck glances at Sweden, who shrugged. "We've met before."

"Hi," the shorter stranger greeted from next to his still drinking companion. He met eyes with no one and frowned shyly at his plate. "Nice to meet you. Have you seen a yellow bird-chick thing around your places?"

"'A yellow bird-chick thing?'" repeated Finland.

"They said it flew in this direction from Germany's house," reported Iceland. His arms were still crossed and he looked _this_ close to crying in frustration in the candle light. ( _Does he already know? Of course he does, this is part of his territory! But if he doesn't…_ )

"So," observed Norway out of the blue as Sweden inhaled to ask something, "you're asking for help in finding his bird so you could eat it and make him cry."

"Yeah," was the expressionless reply. His companion, who'd been drinking from _his_ mug on finishing the contents of his own, choked and coughed.

"Is that all?"

"Why don't we discuss this over dinner?" Finland suggested cheerfully, hurriedly. Something had been and still was brewing behind their sorcerer's eyes the whole time during introductions as they stared at the two and only those closest to him knew what _that_ looked like. "Su-san, Ta-san and I actually haven't eaten yet – would you two, er four – have you-? Okay, Ice-kun – would you two like dessert?"

A waitress appeared and they ordered. Denmark, keen on making new friends but aware something was amiss had taken the seat next to Norway and now lightly touched the stubborn fist on his best friend's lap as they waited: _What's going on, Norgie? I'm guessing you know, but do they have anything to do with_ it _?_ And then _You know something we don't._

"His being a bastard 'specially towards me is a really severe thing," the pursuer continued matter-of-factly. "so he needs to be taught a lesson. He's with me so he could save it in time but really, like him it doesn't deserve to live." He paused as if waiting for a violent reaction from the other thick-clothed tourist but there was none – Finland correctly guessed this probably won't be the case if Sweden wasn't looking so intently at him and his friend. "And by the way," he straightened and looked the faintest bit of businesslike for the first time all evening. "I guess I should say that this has nothing to do with us being c- ex-countries. There's nothing political to this whatsoever. This is just, er, asking a f-favor, if you've got the time. Oh, and our stup- our younger brothers aren't involved, nor are they, uh, supposed to know we've left, actually. Also if they ask-"

"Surely," Sweden interrupted so suddenly that everybody at the table shut up without question, "surely, they'd know if you crashed their private jets on Iceland's private shack?"

Everybody in the whole tavern also shut up without question. Nobody looked at them. Iceland made an embarrassing noise then muttered something about going to the bathroom, his heavy steps crashing through the silence. Norway glared at Sweden and tried not to turn his head to the two intruders as he took off after Iceland.

The paler stranger chuckled hesitantly. "Riiight. You've seen it already, huh?" What happened loosened his tongue. "About that… Um, we'll- Well, we've already promised to build Ice-san a mansion as soon as we can-"

"Have our brothers build him a mansion as soon as we can, we don't have cash," his seat mate muttered. He had enough tact to look annoyed but remorseful. "We'll fix things the moment we find the bird." He looked at the three remaining Nordics a little less confidently than before. "Well… have you seen it? A yellow bird-chick thing?"

Denmark, to relatively cheer things up, asked if they had a picture of it; after Prussia sent it to him through Bluetooth, he asked if there was anything to distinguish it apart from looking like a deformed canary and a chick that could fly as that wasn't immediately obvious. When the one thing its owner could supply him with was that it was squishy to anatomically impossible degrees and gave off an unmistakable aura of awesomeness, Denmark said he'd never encountered it before but he'll have the birdwatchers and ornithologists of his place on full patrol and let them know if they find anything. Finland promised the same thing and added that he'll ask the zookeepers, animal enthusiasts, pet-owners and everyone in general back home to keep an eye out and send them a word. Sweden was about to speak when their meals arrived, savory smoke turning into spit as it reached their tongues from within their noses.

Finland placed Mr. Puffin's plate of fish Iceland had ordered for him on the floor. He whispered, "Thanks. But what're you eating?"

"Sorry, Mr. Puffin," said Denmark leaning over behind Finland. "You know you're not supposed to know 'till Ice says your ready."

"I'm well over one and a half millennia," he spat softly so the foreigners wouldn't hear. "And I still don't what people mean by 'the usual' in my boss's own house."

The foreigners… he looked up at them, trying to determine which would be more likely to be more gullible, more of a jackass. He made his decision and waited till everyone was rightfully focused on Denmark talking. "Psst. Hey bud. What are they eating up there? It's the same thing you and your friend ordered earlier, right?"

"Hmm? You could talk?" Mr. Puffin's new acquaintance far-off look faded as he swallowed down his sweet rice pudding and muttered back. "Somehow I'm not surprised, Snarky McFeathers. Ermm…" Romano looked to Finland and remembered how he and his brother would occasionally give him their old clothes. He reddened slightly. "It's… smoked puffin, right? Yeah," he turned back to the…penguin? Black and white bird? Whatever. "Smoked puffin and cloudberries and Artic char and boiled potatoes. Say," he added, realizing _that_ was the answer: "ain't you a puffin yourself?"

Forks and knives dropped.

Norway arrived from the bathroom. "Iceland's alright now. He said he'll be back with us in a moment-" He took one look at his little brother's pet.

" _Who_. _Told_. _Him_."

"Roma-chen," the one called Prussia squeaked, "Roma-chen, I think we better leave now."

"The last ferry of the week's left two hours ago," Norway said softly. "There are no airports in this place." They stared at each other with very different expressions.

A long and painful silence. Sweden cleared his throat. "I- er- there are fishing boats. Down by the docks. I- I'll let you know if I see your bird," he called out as the doors slammed close.

"Well, gentlemen," announced Denmark. "I believe it is safe to assume that we are, put as simply as could be, utterly fucked. The question now is this: may I have the pleasure of having you four join me in running for our asses?"

"We need to get the civilians off the island!" cried Finland, rising from his seat and dancing a jig of panic. "For all we know it's capping a dormant volcano or something, or, or, or maybe we should hide M-Mr. Puffin, er, quickly, as in, _right now_ , you know, before Ice-kun sees, finds out-"

"Before I find out what?" asked Iceland.

* * *

 **exactly a day ago - Germany's sitting room, Germany**

"Roma-chen, what if the Ore-sama told you he found a way for us to be nations again?"


	2. Day 2 - North America

**day 2, 6:59 – along a river, in a diner by it, along a highway, and the bus stop of a hamlet with a poultry closest to said diner, South-central Canada**

"How are you gentlemen doing?"

"Why do you have two bathtubs in a fishing rig?"

"Cana-san," another man called, waving a worn green paperback with a redheaded girl on the cover, "this little lassie of yours is precious. How come I've never heard of her before? And we're both doing very fine, thank you. Aren't we Roma-chen?"

"Do I look like I have a choice, you chigi."

Canada smiled at both men in their tubs but smiled wider at the one to his right. "We'll be docking soon. Would you like to have breakfast here or on land? I won't mind either way."

"On land," requested the smallest of the three. "I think I've had enough of water for the rest of my life. Er, p-please."

"Certainly, Romano-san," their host said with a nod. "Well, I've come to return your clothes from the laundry. They're good and dry now, and you'll find towels and extra coats if you need it in that cupboard. Please join me on deck when you're ready." Affirmations were received. A door was closed.

 _Well_ , Canada thought to himself, lifting up his pet from the floor, _this is one of the most interesting mornings I've had in a long time._

It was popular knowledge that the North American Brothers liked fly-fishing, but not everybody knew casting nets offshore was the younger's* most effective form of therapy. Occasionally, when the knowledge that he was stepping on the same land as his brother would become unbearable, he'd sail his small old trawler, cared for and used in his absence by an old fisherman's family by the river it was docked in, out for a day and a half at most and return with his nets full. Most of the time, he would arrive home empty-handed, his catch already in the homes of the people he'd met along the way by the barrel. Sometimes when he was really angry, he'd have to go to the post office the next day to send all the leftover fish to family and friends (including America, who by then would no longer be such a grievance).

There was nothing new to him about feeling the waves hypnotically alter his sense of balance, cuddling silently with his polar bear as he lounged on deck sipping cider and reading a book, casting his nets and pulling up a few tons of slick, flailing masses of fish, preparing his harvest in the light of the moon, stars and a few oil lamps after dining on a few. He wasn't a stranger to feeling perfectly refreshed early the next morning as he cast his nets again or pulled up the anchor and made his way back to the harbors to clean his vessel, then drive his pickup truck (parked indefinitely on his favorite cafe just across the docks) back home to business as usual.

What was new to him was that two barely-living humans should be clinging to the said anchor as he raised it from the ocean.

He'd shriek then hauled them onboard, pumped the water off their insides and brought them into the tiny bridge in just one trip, stripped them to their underwear and dipped them in two tubs of very hot water with their heads propped up and limbs hanging out, which he thoroughly dried with towels and dressed in thick woolen bonnets, mittens and socks. Then he hung the trapdoor to the boiler room open to let in even more heat, set up two stools by the tubs to hold their mugs, all his available alcohol on board and fresh, steaming ginger and chili brew, and after they'd warmed down enough to tell him they didn't need a hospital and how they came to the state he found them in, he made one call on his cellphone.

"Guess we could clean _Idlewild_ some other time," he mumbled to the bear in his arms.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Canada."

In twenty minutes, his ship was safe in its resting place and he, East Germany and South Italy were seated at a bare 24/7 diner, ordering breakfast and coffee. He listened to the smaller details of the story they told him onboard while waiting for their pancakes to fry (like how the lifeboat that had sunken and led them to his ship's anchor came from another fishing ship which Iceland had graciously _lent_ them for their quest, and that it had unfortunately _ran out of gas_ and was now _docked safely_ and _perfectly whole_ somewhere between his place and the European's) and by the time their breakfast and coffee refills arrived ("-so you see Cana-san, it's perfectly plausible he's only doing it cause he's jealous his own animal friend isn't as _potty-trained_ as mine-" "THAT'S NOT MY GODDAMNED REASON, YOU CHIGI!") Canada was able to decide it was not only one of his most interesting mornings in a long time, it was also one of the nicest. He'd just come back from the tip of the ocean and felt good, America wasn't around to overshadow him, and he was having pancakes and coffee with maple syrup with the two new friends he'd just made. (Of course he kept the task he'd been assigned with in mind… but he had the whole day to set in action.)

He should have known it was too good too last but didn't until a face smashed itself against the window directly behind where Kuma… something, what was it again? – was munching on syrup drizzled salmon atop the table.

Romano spilled his third cup of black, sugared coffee on himself with a swear; Prussia swallowed pancake a little too quickly. America had been born with a wide mouth and even with his face distorted by being pressed against the glass and the distracting way he was pounding a gloved hand on it, it didn't need anyone Canada's age to make out what he was saying: "Yo! Canada! Can I borrow your monster truck?!"

There went his nice, pleasant morning. Canada raised his voice though his mouth forming exaggerated shapes was all that was needed: "Come inside, America!"

So America did. "Bastard," Romano was quick to spit, dabbing using up the last of the tissue they've been provided with on his shirt, "You nearly burned me to death with what you've done!"

"And a pleasant morning to you too, Italy!"

"Hey, _akkh, akkh,_ Ameri, _kakkh_ – _hhaaah_." Prussia drank his coffee and cleared his throat. "Anyways, you owe me a swimming rematch, ya cheat." He fist bumped with the newcomer good-naturedly as the brunette plopped down next to their host.

"America," Canada began after a long swig of coffee. He gloomily observed how small his cup was and said, "What brings you here?"

"Just checking on you, ya dork!" America squeezed him in a one-armed hug, blissfully oblivious to his mortification. "You _know_ I miss you when the fun of pretending you don't exist in front of other people wears off every now and then."

"Feeling's mutual…"

"Anyways," he let go after what felt like an eternity of shame to Canada and raised his hand for the waiter. "Now that that's done, what brings you two fine gents to my little brother's neck of the woods this early?"

"Please don't call me that." Canada hissed.

"Nosy bastard," Romano snorted.

"Italy, you call me that every darn time that I'm starting to take it as a compliment!"

Romano went pink in the face as America placed his order. "I- Ita- I mean, don't, you Burger Bastard!"

"Roma-chen here's trying to kill my pet chick," Prussia said conversationally once their waiter went away. Canada sighed as the two recounted the story they'd told him – how Romano decided to eat Prussia's lifelong companion to punish him "for being a bigger bastard than anybody has the right to be" and how Gilbird is such a "sweet little thing who wouldn't hurt nor vex a soul – anyways, he got his smarts from his master so the moment he heard Roma-chen announce his intentions, he flew away from West's house into Fritz-knows-where," which turned out to be Iceland's place and how they turned the said territory upside down in looking for it until Iceland found them and decided to lend a hand and point them this way…

Canada sighed again, taking his own animal companion from the table and sitting it on his lap to hug.

"Who are you?"

"Not now, Kumashichou-kun."

"…to be told, it's been some time since this hero's gotten into any action so his skills need practice," America was saying. He swallowed the pancake mush he'd been chewing and erased the remains in his mouth with his coffee. "I'll gladly drive you two around my place in one of Canada's cars for as long as it takes till we find that bird of yours for free!"

" _My_ car? What happened to yours?" Remembering past experiences, Canada regretted asking already.

America grinned like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar: "Let's just say they're all probably well on their way down the Pacific Ocean by now. Er, don't ask why."

"What, the whole half a hundred of them?"

"Half a hundred and _four_ of them," America patiently corrected. "Excluding the time machine."

Canada felt a headache coming and he was pretty sure it was the kind that always rendered him useless for at least a whole day, which he'd long ago dub as the _American Migraine_. "Well, you know the only cars I have are my tractor, the pickup truck outside and the… monster one at home," he ended, slightly embarrassed.

"You have a _monster truck_? That's so cool, Cana-san!" Prussia exclaimed.

"That's pretty… okay, I guess," said Romano, eyes wider than they'd been all morning.

"Then what are we waiting for?" America proposed before Canada had the chance to say anything. "We'll drop Canada off at his house then sweep across my territory for that bird of yours!"

"But what about _my_ territory?" asked Canada, hurriedly looking over the check presented by their waiter (the whole crew had some experience with America's running speed and dragging strength). "Shouldn't we check it out first in case Gilbird's there… and I haven't agreed to you using my car yet!"

They stepped outside to Canada's truck where America insisted on taking the wheel at once, but Canada did something to Kuma- Kuma- whatever! – that made him bare a surprisingly large set of sharp teeth and America stepped aside. Prussia and Romano, still wrapped nicely in Canada's spare coats from his boat, made to make themselves comfortable at the back with the barrels of fish but Canada gave Prussia the wheel and Romano the passenger's seat, saying they still needed to keep as warm as possible and that he could point them the directions through the open back window. Romano muttered something Canada was sure was offensive, to which Prussia snickered, prompting Romano to give him the finger.

"…more sidekicks are needed to successfully look for something so tiny at this hero's house," America was saying once they were well on their way down the road south. "Since your house is smaller, you could do the searching by yourself. With Kumajiro of course."

"You make 'smaller ' sound like it's a bad thing," said Canada in a stung tone.

"To tell the truth, we could split up," said Romano, staring at his hands while he twiddled his fingers. "One of us to work with one of you two. We could cover bigger area more thoroughly that way."

"Nu uh, Roma-chen," said Prussia at once, eyes on the road. "I'm not risking getting a video call from you as you eat poor Gil while I'm half a world away."

"Damn it," snarled Romano. America behind him laughed and rumpled his hair and ended up with his nearly torn off.

In five minutes, after many _thank you for saving us and breakfast and helping us_ 's, and _we'll see you again_ 's – mostly from Prussia, who seemed to be a lot less shy than Romano – Canada had three thoughts as he watched them drive away in his truck, standing at the bus stop of a small town where he knew it was warm enough for yellow chicks to survive in farms.

The first was that he was suddenly no longer in a mood to be polite for politeness sake and therefore no longer in the mood to be helpful for helpfulness's sake (mostly because of his now full-blown American Migraine) and he wondered if the five-hour long bus ride home at this point would be worth it versus just going on with his promise to help his new friends and hitch-hiking his way across his country to check every farm and inform every avian enthusiast's society of the situation in the midst of feeling his head's about to crack. ("Maple…")

The second was that he was torn between wishing the three the best of luck on their trip (he didn't like the idea of having one's pet being lost forever or eaten and would have tried working on having Romano settle for a less traumatic form of punishment had America not intervened – also he didn't want his beloved pickup truck to be mercilessly obliterated into a thousand pieces) and wishing America kept on with his stupid self and do something _America_ that would make Prussia and Romano regret not having had gone with him instead. ("Maple…")

The final thought was the most sober and made him subconsciously adjust his glasses. It wasn't that Canada feared _him_ – certainly not – but it surely would have been nice to do the final procedure of his given assignment with a smile on his face and a light heart and tone…

Whatever course of action he'd decide on, first he'd have to call Germany and tell him he failed.

"An interesting morning," Canada mumbled desolately. "An interesting… morning… indeed…"

"Who are you?"

"Oh my god, Kumakichi-chan, I'M CANADA!"

* * *

 **later that day, 13:26, 33 ft. off the ground inside an inverted pickup truck wedged between two cliffs, Southwestern United States of America**

'… _call a police and the fireman-' beep_. "HELLFUCKINGO?"

'-somewhere safe in terms of being a _ksssh_ , somewhere safe in _kssshhshshrr_ nteracting with other _kkkkkhhss_ the other one? Hnn, I spent the whole night last night looking for such a place in old books but _ksssskrssssshsttts_ 's newspapers! I wonder how those two are doing – I wonder how _those_ two are doing – what if the numb _krrhkrrrrrh_ sent was wrong?'

"COULD WHOEVER THE FUCK THIS IS START TALKING SENSE?"

'Aaah, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't know you'd connected already! The number's corre _zzsshhssh_ I have, er, valuable information for you and your _kkksnn_ ns! _Ksshzzt_ say my name because, uh – whe- where's that piece of paper – _trrrstrrrst_ eech – hnn, I lost it!'

"Okay, Mister, I don't know who you are, but you need to calm down for just a second, alright?"

'H-huh? Well, I guess you're right – um-'

"Alright, have you calmed down? That's good! Now I'll just say what I just said for you again nice and slow okay? Okay, here I go now – COULD WHOEVER THE FUCK THIS IS _PLEASE_ START TALKING SOME MOTHERFUCKING SENSE BECAUSE I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON'T THIS VERY MOMENT I HAVE 50 STATES _AND_ ALASKA _AND_ HAWAII THAT WILL COME AFTER YOUR ASS FOR THE REST OF ETERNITY OR SO HELP ME -"

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, um – _whurlwhurlwhurl tap_. Ah, this? No – _whuwhuwhurl tap_. Um, uh – Your bird is in South America, ve!' _shhkssh, tooooooooooooot…_

 _to be continued..._

* * *

I know Canada's swears are censored with maple leaves in the comics but I think it's cute if he actually couldn't say any and could only manage "maple" instead.


	3. Day 3 - South America

_**day 3, 12:02 – .881 miles from the nearest footpath and four from the nearest human settlement, nearing the heart of the upper half of the middle of nowhere, Brazil**_

"I don't understand why the heck we are looking for an animal so low on the international food chain in a jungle of all the godforsaken places there are when it could so easily have, I don't know, magically checked in at a hotel or something, which is, considering how it's presumably domesticated since birth so that it most probably hasn't the slimmest shred of natural instinct left and how much his little pussy of a master has influenced it into behaving the way it does, more likely."

"Your being a whiny little bitch while telling me Gilbird's an Albert Einstein of a bird just like his awesome master – is that what yer sayin'?"

"I am _not_ a whiny little bitch-!"

"Roma-chen," Prussia bit back a grin to not let it sound through his words. "Roma-chen, you could just give up, you know."

"Like hell I'm gonna do that! Just- can't we at least follow an actual goddamned _footpath_ instead of walking around in circ-"

"Nope," Prussia cheerfully replied, "'cause my little bird senses are a-tingling… _this way_!" and he marked his words by beating, rather than hacking, at his millionth bush with a _machete_.

Romano muttered curses, aimed all his rage at a small cloud of insects with a sweat-slicked spray can instead of punching the man marching ahead of him. Sighing when nothing came out of his weapon, he tossed it over his head and rummaged through the colorful woven bag chockfull of the same brand of bug spray slung over his shoulder.

"Roma-chen, you really shouldn't be doing that," remarked Prussia. "You're permanently butterfly effect-ish damaging this entire precious ecosystem and I don't wanna be semi-responsible for the death of a whole 10% of the world's biodiversity. Also, that's supposed to go on your skin."

"Don't care and don't care," Romano said, kicking at a tiny rodent that peeked at him by the side of his feet. "And you're obviously too stupid to see why I even bother in the first place."

"Hmm."

Romano counted ten seconds as they picked their way through the foliage, thirty, fifty, sixty-five. He grit his teeth so hard, he might have dislocated a few molars. Finally, he spat out, "I'm leaving us a trail of breadcrumbs back to humanity, moron, because at least _I_ have enough sense left to wanna find our way out of this hellhole you had that jerk pretend to tip us off to to try and shake me off."

"Heck no I didn't do such thing!" Prussia protested. "That Ita-chen sounding concerned citizen was simply a gift outta heaven, tha's all. And this Ore-sama could say for certain he's right: my sweet baby Gilbird is 'ere because my little bird senses-!"

"That _Ita-chen_ sounding devil goddamned tipped us to South America - _any possible point in South America_ – not right in the heart of the most godforsaken wasteland in the world!"

"Don't you trust the Ore-sama and his instincts, Roma-chen?"

"No."

"Oh, Roma-chen." There was a light in Prussia's eyes that had no right to be there at the moment, and the flush of his pale, sweaty cheeks were near glowing with joy. His grin for Romano was of the purest intent. "Roma-chen, you should and even if you don't, where's your sense of adventure, eh? Aren't you grateful we're off on one together? Doesn't being out here in the wilderness make you feel alive?"

"Not really. I don't think I've ever wanted to die so much in my entire life till these four hours of torture witcha."

"So you _do_ feel alive!" declared Prussia with an assured nod before stomping forward once again. "'Cause otherwise there'd be nothing left in ya to kill. Ain't I right?"

"Fuck you."

"Anyways," the albino happily chattered, "I'm getting a really strong reading round these parts. Bit o' hard to see past these plants and hear past these other birds, though. Hey, if I took a good sniff with my super sniffer and detect anything awesome…"

Prussia breathed deep as he walked, narrowly missed squashing a whirl of semi-solid goo, stumbled a bit until his shaky arms braced against a tree a few steps away. "Oxygen," he gasped. "C-c-clean air. Puh-please?"

Romano, nose wisely sandwiched between two fingers, stepped over the malodorous stuff, sneering. "Heyheyheyheyhey," he stuttered. "Prussia. Prussia. That shit is fresh."

"Eh? I-is that how the cool kids talk these days or did you invent it just now? Because _haak, hah, hah_ that's a good one, Roma-chen, _sniiiiif_ do the Ore-sama a favor and say it again so he could list it down on his Awesome Book of Modern Terms once he's all recovered – hey, I'mfeelingprettygoodalready-"

"No, you mucus-brained, crap-emitting _asshole_ – That shit," Romano clutched unto Prussia's favorite red sweater (closed all the way up, hood slung over his dripping head) with a hand, jabbed a finger at the direction of said fecal material with another, "is _fresh_."

"So?"

"It's full of fucking _meat_."

Prussia paused from getting out his Awesome Book of Modern Terms. "Oh."

They stared at it until its lone fly diner had made a few dozen friends, which wasn't a very long time at all.

"Oh," was the older man's conclusion, "Well don't ya fret! Whatever made it'd be too full to budge, let alone attack. So unless we're in its territory and it's preggers or had just given birth-"

"Oy, Prussia!" the Italian roared over the most awful fit of yowling. His companion faced a squirming spotted ball of arms and legs, flailing in a screeching Romano's arms.

"What the hell is a house cat doing in the middle of the jungle? Looks pretty exotic too – STOP SCRATCHING AT MY FACE, MONGREL! – d'ya think we could return it to its owner and get big bucks in ex-? OI! Dafuq you did that for, you stinking little-"

Prussia, who had snatched the cat and threw it as hard as he could opposite the direction they were heading, just gripped at Romano wrist and bolted.

"Roma-chen, _RUN_!"

"WHAT THE HELL FOR, YOU CHIGI!?"

"A _KITTEN_! A KITTEN OUTTA HELL, ROMA-CHEN, DON'T YOU EVER READ NATIONAL GROGRAPH-!"

And the speaker tripped, and so did the listener, and they tumbled down a hill so steep it might as well be a cliff, bumping into trees and its' parts and each other all the way before landing on a surface smooth and soft with mud.

Around their aching bodies were scattered provisions ripped from the hole in Romano's bag: gathered fruits Prussia was _pretty sure_ were safe to eat, two tumblers, a crumpled hand-drawn map and other necessities they'd bought either yesterday with money America lent or traded with Canada's sweaters from local children "flying soon to colder lands" just this morning.

Behind them was a wide river, god knew how deep, where Prussia's _machete_ made a splashing noise as it vanished from their sights forever.

Ahead them was the rise of land they fell from, fraught with shrubbery and life, and something was making noise from behind the greens. Growling. Inching closer and closer and closer until they got the glimpse of two amber spheres from between the leaves.

"Roma-chen," Prussia whispered, crouching lower as if to pounce. He was trembling and if they weren't in immediate danger, Romano would have slapped the look of frightened excitement right out of his face. "Would you rather do the rumba with a jaguar? Or, er, seeing we're bloodied and all that – a cha-cha with piranhas?"

Romano let out a scream.

* * *

 _ **meanwhile, in Room 9 of the smallest motel of Cape Farewell, Greenland**_

"…Are you sure your Laddie can't do nothin' about international telephone calls?"

"Sorry Ta-san, but the Internet's the only thing he could mess up. And Su-san and I had the hardest time dodging his questions."

"And your creep friend who wants to join the crew? Austria whatsit?"

"It's _Estonia_. Well, as far as I know, he's just really good with computers as well. And I thought this was supposed to be just between the five of us?"

" _Pokkers_." Click. Shift. "Just pray that the line doesn't get hacked by _anyone_ potentially dangerous with me, Finny." Pause. "If worse came to worse, we could've bribed him with a year-long membership or something."

"S-seriously, Ta-san?"

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA no." Silence. "Damn, is no one home?" Click."Where's Sve anyway?"

"Baking a cake for Ice-kun and Norway in his room again. Do you think him carrying an oven from the city all the way here by himself – you know, so he wouldn't have to give the appliance store the address to where we are – would look suspicious to passersby who saw him?"

"I doubt it. Really – Hello? Germany-san? Oh, just- I mean, not _just_ the Italian government, this is Italy-san himself speaking? Yes, sorry about that, just making sure. Oh, do excuse me, I didn't mean to be rude, this is Denmark speaking. Yup! I was just wondering if you've been seeing the news lately… Oh, nothing special, just something about that supposedly-extinct volcano that erupted in Iceland's place a few days back…"

* * *

 _ **4 days ago, 18:03 – a rushed phone conversation in, on, and at multiple locations, Germany and Italy**_

\- Germany, Germany, they're nearing that location you set on your GPS but your traffic rules are pretty strict, should I let them get awa-?

\- At all costs, Italy, NO.

\- But your policemen are so meeean, they gave me a ticket _and_ took it with my license away before I could even make it to the next traffic light!

\- Tell them the economic state of their nation will collapse if they don't let you pass!

\- There, did you hear that? That's the very land you're stepping on talking, ve! Germany, they won't believe me, do you think if I left home with my pants on, they would have had? Germany, they're asking me to step out of my car now-!

\- Give them the phone, Italy… THIS IS THE FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF GERMANY SPEAKING AND I AM ENABLING THE ITALIAN REPUBLIC TO BREAK EVERY KNOWN TRAFFIC LAW IN MY TERRITORY FOR THE NEXT SIX HOURS FOR CAUSES I SHALL DISCUSS IN THE NEAR FUTURE. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?

\- Ha, did you hear that? Ve, that's right Misters Policemen, let me through, let me through-

\- Germany-san, I've been doing independent research on my own alongside your instructions; my personal satellites have detected activity from your top-secret private hangar-

\- YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE ABLE TO FIND THAT, JAPAN!

\- Ve, Japan, were you talking? I can't hear you properly, I'm going at 120 an hour here- whoops, sorry Pretty Miss!

\- Germany-san, it IS Prussia-kun and Romano-kun, shall I speed-dial yours and Italy-kun's top-secret military forces to stop them from-?!

\- _Speed dia_ -? NO! Just- just hack all available radars of both Italy's and mine's places, don't let anybody know about the two rouge flights!

\- G-Germany-san?

\- JUST DO IT!

\- Ve, Germany I'm here at that landmark you told me about, but I've forgotten if I should go left or right-

\- ITALY, IF YOU SEE ANY AIRCRAFTS TO YOUR LEFT, SHOOT AT THEIR TAILS! They will just have to survive the crash-!

\- Ve!? But- but I don't know how to aim and shoot at the same time-! ve? Did you guys hear that? The explosion? No signs of a fire or crash anywhere, though. Umm…

\- It was a sonic boom, Italy-kun, I recognize the sound – it will be too late for any direct and immediate interference from us now...

\- God _damn it_.

-Ve, but- but they're not supposed to get out of our borders, aren't they, Germany?

\- No. They're not. Japan. Please delete all recordings your satellite has captured. And… please cease all attempts to find them with your devices.

\- Germany-san, I understand that this is a personal matter between you and Italy-kun and I apologize for being so intrusive. However, Prussia-kun and Romano-kun… if I could be of any assistance in finding them, I-

\- Thank you, Japan. I know you mean well and I trust you. But for now, I would like you to remove any trace of any record of the last five minutes you have regarding my brother and Italy's. _Now_.

\- Of course, Germany-san.

\- But why, Germany? Japan's our friend, and his people can even help us cause it's always the more the merrier when it comes to looking for people, right?

\- …No, Italy. Not this time.

\- Ve, Germany, do you need a beer or something? Are you running low on potato fuel? I mean, they're just fighting over Gilbird, right? It's not something harmful that should just be kept between just the three of us, right?

\- Um, hello? Has everyone disconnected? No one's been talking for a while? Er – what do we do now, ve…

\- Japan, is Gilbird still with you?

\- Yes, Germany-san.

\- Good. Italy, come back home – no, of course I'm not letting you spend the night in jail. I think I _would_ need a beer to come up with something we could actually work with. For now, Japan, keep her secret. Keep her safe.

 _to be continued…_


End file.
